Power
by rafaell
Summary: Clare and a hunt before the Awakening.


_Title: Power_

_Rating: PG-13 for a little violence._

_Notes: fell in love with this anime, so what do I do? Write about them. I'm assuming many saw the anime; if not, there's spoilers. This is the only thing I could write, as this was the most my inspiration could spark._

_xx_

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In a way, the women weren't free. But they had a purpose and that's more than living itself. Having a direction to live was life breathed into a soul, and it was easy to ignore the painful surge of power: the pleasurable intensity in the verge of awakening. 

And so, in the midst of a clear forest, with scarce foliage, a youthful looking female took rest. The walk from the last village lasted two full days, without rest and little to eat. Finding a clearing, there in the fold of several trees was she able to pause to breathe. Without a map guiding her, her ability as with most of her kind could find the direction of the next hunt.

She stood there as if waiting, perhaps to take in the way the moon rose to the tops of the where the branches reached. The sounds of crickets were indication that the night was safe from them. Her eyes focused in the dark, adjusting to its night time vision; she better than most animals that had gone extinct - Clare was prepared. Her arms folded, a sigh released from her lips and the sound of the wind whispered in her ear. There her hearing strained, wishing for once to know the direction of where _they_ went.

Clare stepped further, encased into the clearing. Her arms hung at her sides, her shoes clicked on hard ground, tapping deep into the lighted haloed floor; and, the moon's glow where dry branches covered - she paused. In the dying light, her hair is strict and pale, and her human eyes were pensive. It would take a few more miles to the next village and the hunt is growing cold.

The Organization had given her this task, because she was the closest in the district and she wanted the experience. Her superiors knew exactly what Clare wanted, needed. If her revenge to take on one of the most powerful Awakenings was her true calling, then so be it. Training is a must. Clare had learned long ago how difficult this would be: she was no stranger to pain and sorrow: she was brutally abused and cruel laughter still rung from _them. _And to know horror was not something foreign.

Where humans lived, the voracious eaters waited. With their sense of smell, hunger, and ability to blend easily into the human carnage, it was as artless as sucking candy from villager's children. These were the ways of the world. As children, the lesser beings are brought to learn something of monsters, but most wouldn't survive to teach the others. Only in large areas from the young to the old, conglomerating in large numbers that the survival among them would be guaranteed.

But the time has come when the rains poured heavily, sending more of their kind to taste the organs coated in human blood. _What more could have happened if the women of the half had not come to rescue those in need? And how long has this been happening?_ One wonders if the Organization, the men who formed the group had somehow anticipated this. Their funding comes from the head trophy of a Yoki fallen from a Claymore.

Priscilla's whereabouts were currently unknown, according to the Organization; but, as the days unfold and more of them came crossing her path, she began to question. And maybe - it was _the intelligent one:_ the one with the skill of a phantom, placing theoretical thoughts deep in her head.

All the more to understand what the men of the dark cloth wanted of her. The origin for such things began for the first Awakening, for It wasn't until the first male Yoki that set her mind at an unease. Something happened that day that she never thought would ever come to be: the three of them, sharing something the others hadn't possessed - the ability to surpass the power, beyond their limit and be able to come back as a human.

Nothing was further than the truth, for no human could take an arm, leg, twist a head or cut off a finger and have it all glued back in a few. And this made Clare stop and look, still in awe at the newness of her arm. She was thankful, too grateful for the loan. In the glow of the moon, her benefactor's arm vibrated with a life of its own. Clare took a deep breath, her semi-silver eyes widened and the sound of silence brought stillness in the beating of her right. The evening's creak of insects had stopped; her breath blew out smoke grey frost, thick - obscuring her vision for a moment.

Crisp noises crackled like fire under dry wood, dissolving into the atmosphere and the 47th Claymore took the sword, invisible in the waning song of the forest, slashing violently towards her enemy. Her dodge had been closer to where the monster took to slashing, causing a deep gash into the side of her shoulder. Grimacing, she gritted her teeth, positioned away from the next blow and slashed forward, blocking attack after attack.

In the draw of the battle, the whispering wind sharpened overhead, coveting sounds of grunts and hushed breath. The branches, bereft of leaves now mantled the ground; it shivered and shook with force.

Clare sucked in the air, her hands gripping the original sword, swinging it heavily back. It missed its head, dodging again; and she slid her body sideways to avoid another downswing claw. As she landed soundly on the ground, her shoes deep in folds of broken figs and leaves, Clare felt her new arm resonate with anticipative greed.

She looked unwaveringly, up towards the Yoki, towering over the trees and hunched over like the rest of them. The dark purple blood dripped from one of its arms, an indication of taint. This one possessed an average amount of Yoki energy; however, it was quick and claimed an unusual ability. This was in the form of slithering through the forest, the perimeter in such subterfuge, right after the Claymore and behind Clare's sharp senses. In truth, Clare was talented beyond her peers, almost rivaling no. 3, Galatea. That wasn't a small feat, and was yet to meet.

The monster before her laughed, large hand ballooning out towards her, reaching out a lean crooked finger, pointing, "You were expecting me? I admit, I'm a little surprised as I was under the impression that you're quite weak."

This strange Yoki licked out: the long purple tongue slithered from between sharp jagged fangs, and lengthy arms stretched out. Sounds of crushing dry leaves rustled beneath its clawed feet, "What other talents do you have, Claymore?"

Silent as the grave, this young short haired Halfling wasn't one to mince words, rushing forward, not to attack, but to sway away from the deadly blow. She had smelled its purpose, and the direction of the wind was on her side. Even in the cool dewy late eve, where the frost followed this one, this Claymore was prepared. The movement of her swings, bringing the ordinary sword deadly to the Yoki down and upwards nipped at the flesh, and struck at places to spew purple mist.

In the final hour, they stood assessing each other, and all the trees that had lent aid to secure their battleground had been cut down. Now, the moon has fallen further from the sky, and the darkness is searching for the light.

Both are injured, but one is strong: the other near exhaustion.

In the final quarter, the moon disappeared into the dark pink sky, and into the blue horizon. Or was it a trick? Trick of the illusion, and she was finding the means to continue as the vision of her past came rushing to her: Theresa of the faint smile.

Her older sister; her twin; her lost true love.

And the call of her new arm created those flashing moves, the sharp sting of noises, excelling all of her speed, inserting the wavy lengths of steel into the eye of her hunt. Spurts blew in shades of violet, prettier if not for the smell, if not for where it came from stained the ground, coloring bumps of broken leaves.

In the wake of the night, she stood with her gifts, the ones who believed in her: Irene's flash sword, and that of Ophelia's last wish. To destroy all Yoki; even if they become just like them.

Standing before her enemy, she watched with unblinking eyes the flow of a monster's blood, and the withering of their flesh. This one wasn't too hard to fight, though, lasted longer than she would have preferred. Her eyes look toward the east where she would take haven in the village and find someone there to insure the bounty. It was bizarre that this creature had ventured out of the village a scant few miles away to greet her. Clare decided to find answers. Finding the strength, she pushed forward, her hand steadied, the arm tense with renewed expectation.

She was feeling hungry for once, and the image of fruit so fresh passed her mind. It was too bad that only a few bites could sustain her.

Clare's feet seem to weigh her down; she pulled up, touched by heavy laudanum. Dragged on by her legs, her cape billowed upward from the heady rush of the wind.

Life would be harder still, finding the pain of cuts and bruises second nature; yet, felt her human heart beating within her chest so heavy and tired.

xxx

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End file.
